I Have to Go
by flowerfie
Summary: Marik is free of the darkness within him, but Bakura cannot let go of his revenge. Thiefshipping lemon. Based on a picture of the same name by the wonderful Taemanaku on Deviant Art!


**I Have to Go**

The Sun burned through the open window, throwing out its last desperate flames as it was swallowed by the dusty horizon. Marik, perched on the wooden sill, stood to attention as a black coated figure came into view; a stark silhouette that eclipsed what little remained of the dying light. The Egyptian boy raced from his room and wheeled across the hall, crashing haphazardly into the handle of the front door just as a single purposeful knock echoed around him.

This wasn't the first time Bakura had called on him, and Marik's muscles were tense with anticipation. He never could resist that sweet, sweet smirk, that glisten of the eye, that well-toned and well-practised body, and even now, long after their partnership had ended and the darkness within his own heart was gone, their bodies and their souls cried out for each other. It hadn't taken long for Bakura to find him after they had both escaped the clutches of the Shadow Realm, and it had taken even less time for him to work his way back, firmly, into Marik's heart and bed.

Bakura, still so full of fire and rage, awakened Marik's passions in a way that no revenge ever could. He burned so beautifully, so intense, under Bakura's forceful affections that he could do nothing but love the monster, his beautiful thief. Not that he would, or could, ever tell Bakura any of this, and he chided himself for being so sentimental, he knew full well that such remarks would only be met with a flash of teeth and a cynical laugh. It didn't really matter though, what good were words anyway? They didn't need them.

Marik took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he turned the key in the door and the lock clicked undone. He fondled the handle in his palm for a brief moment before turning it slightly to the left and pulling the door open, a sly smile on his face ready to greet those magnificent mahogany eyes and white, white hair.

But Bakura did not even see a glimpse of the smile that had been so carefully prepared for him as he already had Marik pinned to the wall, claws digging into the bronzed flesh of his wrists. The Egyptian was dazed for a moment, his head left spinning from the sudden impact with the wall, but Bakura was soon feeding him his tongue and the welcomed intrusion brought him to his senses and melted his insides all at once. Pale hands wandered Marik's torso, stroking and scratching and pinching their way under his shirt. Within moments he was relieved of it as it fell into a crumpled pool of lilac and gold at their feet.

Marik in turn reached out to pull on his partner's clothing but was instantly rebuffed, his hands slapped away as Bakura shoved him, with force, into the open doorframe of his bedroom. Bakura had him by the throat now, pressing him into the wooden frame with his left hand while his right continued its exploration of Marik's chest. A thigh slipped between his legs, spreading them slightly and he blushed as it pressed lightly against his crotch, white fingers snaking their way skilfully below his belt.

"Bakura…" he moaned into his captor's mouth between kisses, a fierce shade of scarlet spreading rapidly across his face and chest. The pressure on his groin increased tantalizingly by way of reply.

They broke for air and Marik, sensing an opportunity, flung his arms up and around Bakura's shoulders, seized the upturned collar of his coat, and pulled sharply. Bakura's demonic grasp loosened ever so slightly, allowing Marik to guide them under the arch of the door and across the room. They slammed hard into the desk and Bakura, losing his footing, steadied himself on the smooth oak with both hands as Marik coiled his arms around Bakura's waist and slithered closer, pressing their hips together. The feeling of Bakura's desire pressed so resolutely against his own stole away his breath and his restraint, and his lips launched and an attack on the now rose-tinted neck before him, kissing and suckling and biting his way until he was leaning over his partner, left hand moving to encase Bakura's right.

Marik continued his assault on Bakura's exposed neck with renewed vigour, savouring the feel of flesh against flesh, and spurred on by the increasingly ragged breathing of that beautiful chest. He buried his head deep within Bakura's spider silk tresses, breathing in his warmth, and made a tentative nip on his ear. Marik shuddered visibly at Bakura's almost inaudible moan and withdrew, weaving his right arm up Bakura's torso to clutch at the shoulder of his coat.

In that moment Marik wanted nothing more than to shred that coat into tiny pieces. Bakura seemed so reluctant to remove it today, but his clothes only created another rift between them that Marik had to struggle to cross. When they touched, their bodies melted together to form one being, one single sweating, moaning entity. But even then there were bridges that could not be traversed, no matter how hard Marik might try. Bakura was not human, not anymore, and as such, Marik would never be able to reach him, kept at arm's length, unable to see what was inside Bakura's heart. That is, if he even had a heart at all.

There were times, though, when Marik could almost believe that he did, brief flashes of tenderness, always gone before he could really know they were there. The light touch Bakura would use to trace the scars on his back or the way he would sometimes twirl his nimble fingers through Marik's hair, always with a far off look in his eye, in their post-coital tangle of limbs.

Bakura's eyes snapped open, piercing Marik's with a flash of rage, as he let slip a visceral snarl. Clawed fingers curled tightly around Marik's wrist, forcing his hand from the coat and pushing his entire body away. Marik searched Bakura's eyes, confused and more than a little hurt, the space Bakura had created between them growing more painful with each moment. If Bakura shared any of that pain, though, he certainly didn't show it, and his deadpan expression burned into Marik's mind. Marik pulled his arm from Bakura's grip and backed away a little more, turning his face away to hide his crestfallen expression, nursing his pride.

There was an explosion of movement. Bakura's hands grabbing whatever part of Marik was available as he launched the boy roughly towards the bed. Marik landed, splayed out on all fours, with a thud and a muffled cry, his golden hair falling wild about his shoulders, his backside raised, undignified, in the air. Bakura wasted no time, enveloping Marik's body before he had the chance to compose himself, hands meandering from behind to unbuckle his belt and tug at his zipper. Expert fingers caressed him and Marik's breath caught in his throat, blood rushing frantically downwards, encouraging his already sizeable erection.

"Please… Ahhnn…" he purred into the bed sheets as Bakura's finger brushed oh-so-lightly over the tip, and shivers erupted all over his body, resonating between his legs. To his dismay, his pleading had quite the opposite effect and he groaned inwardly, left almost painfully neglected, as Bakura slid his hands around the waistband of his trousers, yanking them down along with his underwear, Marik kicking them off from around his ankles obligingly, leaving him completely exposed but for the glint of gold around his arms and neck.

Something was wrong, Marik knew, and he turned slightly to watch, trying his hardest to ignore his vulnerable position, as Bakura surveyed his prize, fully clothed and with an unreadable expression on his deceptively angelic features. Bakura's pallid fingers set about their task of removing his own clothing, slowly, deliberately, piece by piece. Violet eyes stared, captivated, as Bakura was first relieved of that infernal trench coat, then the striped shirt Marik was so fond of, followed swiftly by his trousers until he too was naked but for a flash of gold. The Millennium Ring was the last thing to go, placed carefully on the desk, where Bakura lingered for a moment before joining Marik on the bed, his hands resting gently on Marik's back, tracing his scars perfectly without the need to look.

Bakura reached an arm under the bed and rummaged for a second or two before producing a small pink bottle and emptying what remained of its contents over his left hand. Without so much as a moment of hesitation, he confidently jammed two well lubricated fingers inside Marik, who hissed approvingly and jerked forward slightly, reduced to incoherent moans and spasms as Bakura's fingers dragged slowly around his insides. He cried out, no longer able to control his own voice as Bakura's free hand harassed his member, hips moving of their own accord, in time with Bakura's skilful strokes.

Seemingly satisfied with their effect, Bakura withdrew his fingers, instead placing one hand on Marik's hip, while the other continued its game with his front. The Egyptian braced himself but could not supress a yelp as Bakura drove forward inside him, their hips melting together with the heat from each thrust. Even the mighty Bakura, controlled and deliberate as he was, let out an approving grunt as he pushed deeper and deeper inside.

Both their bodies moved as one, speed, intensity and heartbeats growing together, Marik's cries echoing back to dance with Bakura's low growls of pleasure.

"Bakura!" and the thrusts became harder still, the stroking more frenzied.

"Please!" and the hand at Marik's hip glided up his back to tangle in his hair, pulling back slightly so his neck arched backwards and his lips parted, cries spilling out over his tongue.

"I'm going to…" and…

Nothing.

Bakura froze in his tracks, lithe fingers still wrapped delicately in Marik's hair.

Marik's desire turned once more to frustration at the sudden neglect. He was so close, and the pulsating between his legs was unbearable. Marik half wondered for a moment if Bakura was toying with him, denying him a release for his own amusement, but no, Bakura wasn't his usual self today and there was something about the way those fingers clung so softly to his hair…

He turned his head, arching his spine so he could look behind him, concern on his face, and for a split second he thought Bakura looked stricken, his mouth slightly open, eyes focused on Marik, but not quite meeting his gaze. Then, almost before Marik could register his expression, Bakura's mouth turned up in a fanged smirk and his eyes narrowed dangerously, as if to erase whatever emotion he had not quite exposed. The fingers in Marik's hair pulled violently and he was forced backwards, pushing Bakura deep inside him once more. Marik let out a cry but it could not be heard as Bakura had already rammed his face downwards into the pillow, and was thrusting harder than before; with an urgency that Marik could feel in his core with every movement.

Bakura leaned in closer, the skin of his chest sliding against the welts on Marik's back, his breath ghosting over the back of Marik's neck as he let out moan after moan. His right hand still working rhythmically on Marik's now furious erection, the warmth of skin against skin spreading rapidly through their already sweating bodies. Bakura's grip on the back of Marik's head loosened slightly, and Marik's cries and moans were released once more, rolling from his mouth with blissful abandon, and sending Bakura into an even greater frenzy.

Their cries bounced off each other, fuelling the fire between them and Bakura released Marik's hair completely to snake his arm around Marik's waist, pulling him close enough to plant fiery kisses on his neck and shoulders. This alone was almost enough to send Marik over the edge and his cries became more desperate, his breathing shallower, the world spinning around him as his mind clouded over and all he could think of was Bakura behind him, inside him, holding him…

"PLEASE!" and this time Bakura complied, pulling him closer still, his teeth sinking into Marik's shoulder, hard, though not quite enough to break the skin, his thrusts and strokes burning in their intensity. And Marik was coming, his entire body convulsing as the waves of pleasure rolled over him, spilling out over Bakura's hand. Through the haze he heard a deep, guttural moan escape from Bakura's lips as he too succumbed to his own desires, hot liquid pouring out to fill Marik's insides as they both rode it out, before collapsing in a pile on the bed. Arms and legs locked in a not-quite embrace.

And there they stayed, all jumbled up in a mess of limbs and sweat and heartbeats, until their bodies stopped quivering and their breathing somewhat resembled normal. Marik was the first one to stir, rolling his neck and stretching his shoulders nonchalantly while letting out a carefully constructed yawn. He knew exactly what happened next, their little routine, soon Bakura would rouse himself and shove Marik unceremoniously aside as he hunted down his clothes and did battle with his unruly hair.

Yet Bakura remained where he was, draped loosely around him, one leg dangling lazily off the edge of the bed. Having Bakura resting so serenely about him made Marik feel a little brave, or maybe foolish, and he turned to face that beautifully sculpted chest pressing his own to it, wrapping his arms around it to rest on Bakura's shoulder blades. Bakura's eyes fluttered open, fixing on Marik, (who half expected to have his throat slit for trying something so mushy), that unfathomable look on his face once more. To Marik's disbelief, Bakura leaned in towards him, one hand gracing his arm, as if to kiss him. Something was very wrong.

"It's time, isn't it?" Bakura faltered, no longer able to meet Marik's accusing stare. He rolled off the Egyptian; legs hooked over the edge of the bed, and sat up.

"The Pharaoh?" it wasn't a question.

Bakura made no answer, and instead busied himself with his usual show of collecting the clothes he had left strewn around the room, before returning and dropping them on the bed beside Marik. He pulled on his trousers in silence, and Marik did the same, his eyes boring into the back of that beautiful white-haired head. Marik sat back down on the edge of the bed staring at the floor while Bakura slipped on his shoes, wishing that Bakura would see how this would all end, and though he didn't want to admit it, he knew in his heart that he probably already did.

"I have to go." Bakura said flatly, picking up his coat, and Marik knew that there was no hope of stopping him.

A golden hand touched Bakura's face ever so softly, and he moved his instinctively to hold it.

"Don't." it was Marik's final plea, and he looked Bakura directly in the eye as he said it. Bakura held his gaze for a brief moment and Marik thought, or at least wanted to believe, he saw a tiny flicker of something a little bit like regret in Bakura's eyes.

Bakura broke away from Marik, grabbed his shirt and, saying nothing, shuffled over to the desk to retrieve the Millennium Ring, looping the cord around his neck with tired arms. He slung what remained of his clothing carelessly over one shoulder and turned towards the door, pausing for a moment but not turning back, before walking away.

His coat dragging lifeless, a dead weight, on the floor behind him.

~End~

**Author's Note: **

This fic is based on a wonderful picture of the same name by Taemanaku on DeviantArt. Please do go check it out if you haven't seen it already!

Set somewhere at the beginning of season 5 of Yu-Gi-Oh, before Bakura and Yugi enter the whole Millennium World thing…

Hope you enjoyed!


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